A Woman Waits For Me
by r4ven3
Summary: Another story featuring Jane Townsend, set around 3 months after "Surprise Encounter". Part follow-up, part companion piece, this is a Harry & Ruth story, with lashings of Jane. 5 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Some reviewers of my last fic - "Surprise Encounter" - suggested that I pursue the character of Jane Townsend in another fic. Normally, I'd ignore such nudges, because I do not write well on command, but I enjoyed writing Jane so much that I wanted to revisit her, and see whether she and Ruth were up for further communication. This is that fic. I usually write very quickly, but this one has taken a while to get off the ground. [Special thanks must go to Eggwhisker and Sparky75, without whose cheeky requests this fic may never have been written.]**_

_**Whilst this story follows on from "Surprise Encounter", and some events mentioned in this had their origins in that fic, a knowledge of it is not absolutely necessary for an understanding of what is going on here.**_

_**Oh, and the title is taken from a poem by Walt Whitman. I am really rubbish at choosing titles, and finding the ending of a fic.**_

_**Note also that I have created my own timeline and version of canon events.**_

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><p>Harry was in a dark and sullen mood. It had been almost nine days since he and Ruth had spoken about anything other than work, and he feared his heart may be about to break. After just over three glorious months with her, he had blown it. They'd lost not only the Home Secretary, but Ros Myers. Since the hotel explosion had taken those two lives, he had not been himself, but Ruth's curt and definite response to his proposal of marriage was unexpected. The very least he'd expected from her was for her to have given the question some consideration. He knew he'd not phrased it as a question, but within his statement was the intention of a question, and he was sure Ruth knew him well enough to have understood that. He still could not believe that she'd said no to him.<p>

He sat in his living room, his eyes on the whisky decanter. Should he? Since he and Ruth had begun seeing one another – and do people their age actually date? - he had been drinking less and enjoying life more ….. much, much more. He had spent his evenings either in Ruth's company, or speaking with her on the phone – long, rambling, delicious, revealling, flirtatious, arousing conversations with her, which had left him wanting more. He wanted her body, but he was nervous about guiding her towards taking this step with him, and any progress they'd made in that direction had ultimately been halted by him. That also did not make sense, other than his fear that a woman as young as Ruth may be repelled by his body. He knew he was still in reasonable shape for his age, and he had no trouble with arousal, and he knew he could perform for as long as required or desired. It was the package it all came in which he feared may not be to her liking. They could hardly make love while he was still fully dressed.

They had not yet had sex. Perhaps that formed the core of the problem. Perhaps he should have put aside his own fears, and led her into that level of intimacy. It was not as though he was not skilled at seduction. They had enjoyed almost everything together, but had not progressed to sex. He had been the one to hold back, to stop them going too far when their passion for one another had run away from them. He hadn't wanted them to rush into intimacy – after all, they had the rest of their lives …... didn't they? He wanted their first time to be special – dinner, wine, a hotel room with a comfortable bed. And Ruth? ….. he had no idea what it was she wanted. He'd thought they were progressing steadily towards a commitment, but clearly she had other ideas. He could not remember ever feeling this wretched …... not since Jane had unceremoniously kicked him out of their home and their marriage.

Harry wondered whether it was healthy for a man of 56 to cry over a woman. It was either he have a good cry, or pour himself a drink. Prior to Ros' funeral, they'd spoken to each other every evening – either on the phone, or in person. Since the funeral they were far apart, in more ways than one, and he couldn't bear it. He _had_ to talk to her. Grasping his phone from the small table beside his chair, he pressed the first name on the speed dial.

* * *

><p>Ruth had been sitting alone in her flat, feeling miserable. She was sure this was not how she or Harry had planned to progress their relationship. Their evenings were meant to be joyful, spent in one another's company. For a little over a week she and Harry had only communicated about work. It was as though they had never had a personal relationship at all.<p>

As of that evening, Ruth was no longer sure that she and Harry were still a couple. The closest they'd been during the last nine days had been when she'd shown him Nicholas Blake's autopsy report. They had both understood that Harry's two days away from London had been spent visiting Blake in Scotland. Ruth was almost certain that Harry had been responsible for Blake's death, but they would never speak about it – ever. In the briefest of moments, Ruth had felt the understanding pass between them – an electric pulse which passed from one to the other, so that again they were almost as close as lovers.

Sitting at her kitchen table, a cup of tea between her hands, she had mulled over the events immediately following Ros' funeral, and none of it added up to a reasonable objection to his suggestion …... and that included her own responses to Harry's suggestion that she marry him. The truth was that Ruth was unclear as to why she was so against the idea. She suspected that having sprung a marriage proposal on her, she had responded in a way which would give her time to sort it out in her head. She had needed to weigh and measure, sorting out the pros and cons. Of course, that had always been her habit, and it wasn't necessarily the best way to have reacted. She needed to talk with someone who knew Harry. It would be disastrous were she again – in her current state of confusion, and irritation with him - to address the subject directly with him. He'd been so cold towards her that she knew he'd been hurt …... and she had no idea what to do about that.

When her phone rang, she thought it would have to be Harry. She was not ready to speak to him, so when she saw the caller's name, she was rather surprised ….. and pleased. She arranged to meet the caller at a pub not far from where she lived. The caller had said they could be there in twenty minutes, leaving Ruth with just enough time to change her clothes, and touch up her lipstick. When she ended the call, she turned off her phone. This action went against all her spook's instincts. It was just that she didn't wish to be interrupted, and especially not by Harry.

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><p>Harry waited until he heard Ruth's voicemail message. He considered simply hanging up and not leaving any message, but then he relented, knowing how upset he'd be were she to do that to him. <em>Ruth, <em>he said,_ it's me. We need to talk, the sooner the better. I ….. I don't know what to do, and ….. I miss you._ Annoyed with himself for his temporary loss of composure, Harry pressed `End Call'.

Bugger it. He heaved himself from his chair, and poured himself a double measure of single malt. He was in need of comfort, and if Ruth was not available to comfort him, then alcohol it would have to be.

* * *

><p>By the time Ruth entered the lounge bar of the <em>Lion &amp; Lamb<em> – which was quite a bit further from her home than `just around the corner' - she was already twenty minutes late. Looking around at other patrons, she saw that her choice of attire – jeans, ankle boots, a shirt and jacket – had her fitting right in. She looked around her, until right across the other side of the room she saw a middle aged woman wave a hand towards her. Ruth smiled in the direction of the woman's friendly face, suddenly relieved that she had agreed to this meeting. She had no idea what it was about, but she was prepared to do almost anything if it meant she could avoid seeing Harry, thinking constantly about him, and what he might be doing at that very moment, and whether he was angry with her, or simply deeply hurt. In time, she hoped she would have some answers for him.

As she sat in the chair across from her companion, Ruth began apologising for her lateness, but she was waved into silence by a bejewelled hand, the nails well-manicured and painted a dark burgundy colour. Ruth unconsciously shoved her own hands into her lap, where one hand desperately clasped the other.

"You could at least have let me buy the first drink," she said, as her companion poured white wine into the empty glass in front of her.

"You'll have to pardon me, Ruth. I've had a head start. I had to do _something_ while I waited for you."

"I'll buy the next bottle, then."

"After those flowers you sent me, I should buy all the drinks tonight. Let it be my treat. Besides, I feel it's my duty to do my best to spend Phillip's money. I can't have him leaving it all to that ghastly daughter of his, money-grabbing little trollop."

Ruth looked down, momentarily embarrassed. She looked up again and nodded her assent.

"So," her companion began, "I take it by the flowers you sent me that you and Harry are just hunky-dory …... that you've – how do they say it – _found_ one another. Am I right?"

Ruth's face said it all. Her brow furrowed as she tried to keep a straight face. She immediately felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. In an attempt to staunch her rising emotion, she swallowed heavily. There was no way she would allow herself to cry in front of Harry's ex-wife.

"Oh," Jane said with meaning. "So Harry has already blotted his copy book. Stupid man. Tell me all about it."


	2. Chapter 2

"He _what_?" Jane exclaimed, her voice hoarse from her attempt to keep her voice down. "What was he _thinking_? That doesn't sound like Harry at all."

"I ….. I'm sure he meant it, but …... we haven't yet discussed any kind of future. We've just been ….. enjoying one another. It was ….. too much, and too soon. Marriage is so ….. _final_."

Jane laughed throatily, her grey eyes sparkling. "I agree, but the very least he needed to have done was to take you to dinner when he popped the question. Harry can be such a prat."

Ruth looked up from her glass of wine, which she'd been quaffing altogether too quickly. She placed her glass on the table a little too heavily. "Harry is a lot of things, but as long as I've known him, he's never been a prat. His ….. proposal was well meant I feel, but ..."

"I'm sorry, Ruth. I keep forgetting that you love the man."

"I ….." And Ruth could say nothing more to that. In less than twenty minutes, Jane Townsend had put her heavily ringed finger right on the nub of the matter.

"You do …... love him too …... don't you? I just assumed you do, because Harry, poor lamb, is besotted with you."

Ruth looked across the table at Jane as she nodded. She could barely speak. She loved Harry – admired him, longed for him, craved his touch. Wasn't that the question to which she'd not known the answer? So …... why oh why had she said no?

"Now ….. all these days later …. I have little idea why it is I turned him down. I gave him reasons, but now ... they seem so ... trite."

"Perhaps you're not yet ready for marriage," Jane suggested, her facial expression showing how seriously she was treating Ruth's dilemma. "It's a huge step. It says: `No matter what happens between us, I commit myself to you for the remainder of our lives.' Who is there among us is able to make that call? Marriage is difficult, and Harry should know that. Perhaps he has created unrealistic expectations about the two of you." When Ruth said nothing in reply, Jane watched her. What Jane saw was a very unhappy woman. "Were you happy with him before he proposed to you?" she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

"Yes. We were both ….. very happy."

"Then talk to him, Ruth. He's not a fool …... not all the time, anyway."

"Harry is very intelligent." Ruth was aware of the defensiveness in her tone. "It's …... one of the many things I ….. admire about him."

Jane waved her hand around in a gesture of dismissal. "I know, I know. The man is so bright that you're sitting here having a drink with me, when you should be at home, happily cuddled up to him."

Again, Ruth stared at this woman who had kicked Harry out of her home and their marriage. Was it that easy? Could she just …..._ talk_ to Harry, and all their previous misunderstandings would dissolve into the air, never to he heard of again? What if he again mentioned marriage? And was marriage such a preposterous idea? Hadn't she spent many years fantasising about marrying Harry?

"Why do you ... care if Harry and I make it as a couple?"

"As I said all those months ago, if Harry is happy he is more likely to forge a strong relationship with Graham. Besides, when Harry is happy, he can be rather malleable."

"So your interest in Harry and me is purely one of self interest."

"You make that sound like a bad thing. Self interest can be a fine way of protecting one's ... assets. That's one of Phillip's favourite sayings, and it has certainly worked for him."

"I imagine you asked me here for a reason," Ruth said, deciding that she'd said more than enough about Harry to his ex-wife. The bloody woman knew far too much about them as it was.

"Oh," she began, giving Ruth direct eye contact, one eyebrow lifted, "I thought we might do a little girl-bonding. Isn't that what they call this sort of thing? Meet at the pub, and check out the talent?"

"You can't be serious."

"No. I'm not."

Ruth sighed heavily, relieved that she wasn't totally out of her depth. Despite their differences, she quite liked Jane, and there was some deep-seated kernel of curiosity which was driving her to get to know the woman better.

"I take it you know that Graham passed his exams," Jane said at last, her tone no longer teasing.

Ruth nodded. "Graham rang Harry, and he was …. elated ... on Graham's behalf."

"In two weeks Catherine will be in London – hopefully for good this time – and she wants to have a family gathering …... a celebration. She suggested that we celebrate Graham having passed his first year university exams. It's just an excuse, really, but so far in Graham's short life there has been very little to celebrate."

"He did very well," Ruth replied. "He should be very proud of his achievement."

"I thought we could all gather somewhere convenient to us all – me, Phillip, you and Harry, Catherine and a partner, and Graham and that little blond girl -"

"Mikaela."

"That's the one. She seems …."

"She's very sweet. She and Graham seem very well suited."

As Ruth had been speaking, Jane's right eyebrow had again lifted slightly. "I'm glad you approve, Ruth."

Suddenly, Ruth sat back in her chair, as she breathed out. "I don't know if Harry will want me to accompany him," she said quietly, "not after what has happened between us."

Again Jane waved her hand in the air as if batting away Ruth's words. "It was a proposal of marriage, Ruth. You're meant to feel flattered by that, pleased that the man you love wants to spend his life with you ….. I believe that's the sentiment behind it, although God knows most of us don't make the distance. If you still love Harry, and clearly he still loves you, then the problem exists only in your head."

Ruth experienced immediate outrage. "Are you suggesting -"

"I'm suggesting that any problem there may be between Harry and yourself is not insurmountable, and may be exacerbated by your thinking about it far too much and for far too long. I also suggest that you consider what you will gain, rather than what you might lose."

Jesus! Did this woman ever think before she spoke? Ruth sat back in her chair, the only way she had available to her to put distance between she and Jane. "I …. if Harry attends this …... gathering of your family, he might not want me there. We've barely spoken since he asked me to marry him …... apart from at work, that is."

"_I'm_ inviting you, Ruth. If Harry wants to attend, he's very welcome, but if he doesn't smarten up and make it up to you, then you'll be invited as _my_ guest. I like you. My son likes you, and even the mousy Mikaela likes you. I'm certain Catherine will adore you." Jane poured the dregs of the wine into Ruth's glass. "Time for another," she said, getting up and heading to the bar.

_Make it up to me?_ Ruth suspected that _she_ was the one who was in need of making it up to Harry. _She_ was the one who had rejected him. _She_ was the one who had said no to a life spent with him, as his partner. Clearly, Harry's ex-wife was very biased against him. Old habits, and all that.

* * *

><p>What Ruth didn't know was that over the previous hour and a half, Harry had tried around six times to ring her, and had left three messages on her voice mail. By nine-thirty he began to panic, and so he got into his car and backed out of his driveway. Not once did he consider that he would be over the legal alcohol limit, which he no doubt was. He was focused on his goal, and nothing could stop him. He drove down his street, and turned left onto the main road.<p>

* * *

><p>Ruth and Jane didn't quite manage to polish off the second bottle of wine. Jane checked her phone to find that it was almost ten-thirty, and she'd best head home.<p>

"Phillip worries about me. It's rather nice to have someone caring whether I live or die. It's been a while since I've felt this cherished," Jane said. "I'll call you a taxi, Ruth."

"I'd much rather walk."

"Why don't I drop you home?"

Feeling too weary to argue, Ruth allowed Jane to drop her outside her building.

"That's Harry's car," Ruth murmured, noticing the Lexus parked in front of the flats.

"That's good …... isn't it?"

"I suppose so. I hope so."

As Ruth got out of the car, Jane called out to her. "I'll be in touch about the family get-together, Ruth. Just make sure Mr Grumpy comes with you. You can tell him I'll not let him through the door unless he's accompanied by you."

And with those words, she drove off, leaving Ruth wondering how and when Jane Townsend had become her friend and champion.

One look at Harry's car told her that he wasn't sitting in it, so Ruth headed down the path towards her front door, and found him sitting on the top step, his arms resting on his knees. He looked forlorn and very lonely, and more than a little cold.

"Hello, Harry," Ruth said quietly.

Harry lifted his head and looked up into her face. "Where have you been?" he asked, standing. "I've been trying all evening to ring you."

Seeing the distress on his face, Ruth reached out a hand and placed it on his arm. She was tired, and would rather have fallen straight into bed, but Harry was at her door, and she wasn't about to send him home.

"Come inside," she said. "I believe we need to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thank you to those who have read and reviewed this fic so far. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.**_

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><p>Ruth stood with her back to Harry while she made them a pot of coffee. She certainly needed coffee, and by the smell of whisky on Harry's breath, she suspected so did he. She asked him to sit at the kitchen table. The ritual of making coffee gave her a few moments in which to prepare what she wanted to say to him. In her head it sounded easy. <em>Harry, I'm sorry if I've hurt you. I may marry you, but not right now, but I'd like us to pick up where we were at the time of Ros' funeral.<em> Even to her, it smacked of desperation, and Harry might consider an apology that vague to be insincere. She and Harry were never simple. There was always some underlying complication.

"You know you should never turn off your phone, Ruth," he said quietly as she served their coffee, and then sat down opposite him. She took a sip, both elbows on the table, as her hands cradled her cup. She had to measure her words before she spoke.

"I know. I just ….. haven't known what to say to you …... how to make things right again. I know you were hurt by what I said to you."

"Yes, I was, but I shouldn't have thrown it at you like that. You were clearly not prepared for …. that."

"No …. I wasn't. I didn't know what to say, so I …... said the first thing I thought of."

"I ….. I've been hoping that's what happened. I needed to know, Ruth …... I needed to know that you were not saying ...….. that it was the end of …. us."

Ruth had watched him while he'd struggled to put the words together. Harry was not a man to either display his emotions, or to admit to being hurt. It had only been in the past three months that she had witnessed his vulnerability. She had seen how very hurt he'd been by her turning down his proposal, regardless of the words he'd spoken ….. _we move on from this_. It was clear to Ruth, as she too struggled to find the right words to say to him, that he'd not moved on at all, and if she was being honest, neither had she.

"That's not what I meant, Harry. All I meant was that marriage is far too big a step this early in our ….. relationship. I've been very happy with the way we were, the pace at which we were ….." She sipped her coffee, giving herself more time to think. "Tonight I met Jane at a pub, and we had a few drinks and a talk. She -"

"You mean my ex-wife, Jane?"

"That's the only Jane we both know, Harry. She was upset that you'd asked me -"

"You discussed this with _her_?"

"Only in that I told her you'd asked me to marry you, and that I'd said no, and this then has upset her plans for a family get-together to celebrate Graham passing his exams."

Harry's eyes were shining, and Ruth couldn't determine whether he was very angry, or about to cry.

"You discussed _us_ with _Jane_? Ruth …. I'd rather you didn't do that."

"Harry ….. four hours ago, I wasn't even sure there was an us. I've been upset also, and I needed to talk to someone, preferably another woman. I needed to know whether my response to your proposal was …... normal."

"And?"

"Jane gave me another point of view. It helped. It helped me see why I did it." All the time she'd been speaking, Harry had been fiddling with his cup. He appeared to not have been listening. "I was scared, Harry. It was just too much all at once …... us being a couple, the hotel explosion, Ros dying ….. and ….. you were very cut up over Ros' death. I couldn't take too seriously a proposal made, not only at a funeral, but at a time when you were so distraught over the death of someone to whom you'd been so close."

Ruth had said her piece. She realised that she wasn't about to explain her night out with Jane to Harry. Given the circumstances, being with Harry's ex-wife at a pub, and telling her about his odd proposal was hardly any business of Harry's.

"I …. it was an act of desperation, Ruth. I believe that I may have been trying to …..get a commitment from you so that we could look out for one another …... so that we could take care of each other."

"I think I can see that now …... but Harry, we don't need to be married to do that."

Harry nodded, and then looked down, again fiddling with the handle of his coffee mug while he considered his next words. "So ….," he said at last, looking up from his coffee into Ruth's eyes, "are we good?"

"We're fine so long as you don't propose to me again …... at least, not for a while. I'd prefer that any decisions about marriage - or not - be made by the two of us ... after a healthy discussion about it."

Harry's face broke into a smile, something Ruth hadn't seen since before Ros had died. Without thinking about it, she stood up and walked around the table to Harry's side. She put her arm around his neck, her fingers resting under his jaw, and she felt one of his hands encircle her waist, as she leaned down to place a soft kiss on his mouth.

"I don't think we should talk any more about the proposal," she said quietly, her mouth still close to his.

"Good idea," he replied, as he drew her head down once more, and this time the kiss was longer, and their mouths opened, and their tongues touched. The kiss was delicious, exciting, warming them from the inside out.

When they drew apart, and Ruth again stood up, she knew what should happen next. "Harry," she said quietly, her voice husky from the kiss, "would you like to stay the night?"

Harry watched her carefully. He took his time answering, just enough time for Ruth to began to panic. Had she just thrown at him her own version of a proposal? What must he think of her?

"What exactly are you offering me, Ruth?"

Ruth took a step away from him. "I'm suggesting you share my bed, Harry, but not for sex."

"Good."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I have plans for when we make love for the first time."

Ruth took another step back, so that she was almost sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. "Plans? Don't tell me you've booked us a mini break in Paris."

"Would you like that, Ruth?"

"One day, yes, but not for our first time. That's altogether too much pressure."

"I agree." Harry turned towards her, and reached out to take her hand, lifted it to his lips, and with his eyes on hers, very gently he touched his lips to her skin. When he pulled her hand against his cheek, Ruth could no longer hold back. She stepped close to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him with as much passion as she could gather.

"Bed," she said.

"I haven't brought my pyjamas."

"So wear your underwear, and leave on your undershirt. I promise I'll rein in my animal urges."

* * *

><p>Ruth waited in bed while Harry used the bathroom. She imagined him urinating, washing his hands, and then cleaning his teeth with the fresh toothbrush she'd kept for this purpose. With only a bedside lamp for illumination, the room was bathed in soft light. When Harry very quietly entered her bedroom, she could not take her eyes from him. He appeared hesitant, which was very unlike him. He was dressed only in a pair of black trunks and a white, short-sleeved undershirt, beneath which Ruth could make out his solid, bulky body. His stomach had spread, and his chest had flesh covering it which younger men did not. Because of the low light, she could make out very little of what hid inside his trunks, but his legs were sturdy and well-muscled. In the past few months her hands had touched much of what she could see, but at the time they'd both been fully clothed.<p>

Having run her eyes over his whole body, she looked up into his eyes, as he hesitated before lifting the duvet.

"Is this alright with you?" he asked.

"Of course."

As he slid under the duvet, and shuffled closer to her, she noticed him watching her, a slight smile on his lips.

"What?" she asked.

"I do believe you were checking me out, Ruth," he said, turning on his side, leaning his head on his hand.

Ruth felt herself blushing, and hoped that the low lighting in the room would hide her heightened colour from Harry. "That's because you're rather lovely, Harry."

Harry leaned in to give her a quick kiss. "I believe you are the first person to have ever called me lovely."

When he buried his face in her neck, Ruth felt her body relax, and she slid both arms around him. She was tired, and she knew how tired he must be, but …... could this be the right time? Ruth pulled away from him slightly, and caught his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing at all. I was just ….. wondering ….. could we …."

Harry smiled lazily, and leaned closer to her so that he could kiss her lightly. "As delightful as your suggestion is, we've both been drinking, and I don't know how ….. responsive I would be."

Disappointed, Ruth pulled away from him, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

"It wouldn't be special, Ruth," he said quietly. "It would just be a clumsy shag."

"Harry, I can't imagine you ever shagging clumsily."

"Believe me, it has been known. Just ask Jane." As soon as the words had left his mouth, he wanted them back. He flopped back on his pillow, covering his eyes with his hand. "I'm really sorry, Ruth. That was the wrong thing to say."

"It was, yes, but it wasn't the worst thing you could have said. Jane has already told me that you're rather good …. in bed."

Harry took his hand from over his eyes, and looked at Ruth, visibly startled. "She told you _that_?"

"When she accosted me by the Thames that day, yes. She suggested that I should be sampling your skills ….. or words to that effect."

"Bloody hell."

"So …... if we're not going to make love …. can we at least cuddle?"

They both lay on their sides facing one another, and arms slid around waists. Very slowly, Ruth allowed her head to fall against Harry's shoulder, while he rested his chin on the top of her head. In moments they relaxed against one another, and were soon asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

17 days later:

"Despite what she says, and the way she acts towards you, I believe she holds a lot of affection for you."

Harry stopped halfway along the curved driveway in front of Jane's and Phillip's house, and turned towards Ruth, so that she also stopped, turned and looked up at him.

"Calling me names and embarrassing me in front of my staff at work is not a reasonable demonstration of affection, Ruth."

"For Jane, I think it is. She communicates in a unique way. I suspect she always has. She's so used to yelling at you and calling you names, that's what she does, but if she didn't care about you, she wouldn't do that. If she didn't care about you at all ….. she'd simply ignore you."

"So Ruth, you're saying that you know my ex-wife better than I do."

"No. I'm just viewing her from another woman's perspective." Harry had stepped closer to her, and his hands rested loosely on her hips. "We women have our own way of communicating how we feel."

He then quickly pulled her against his body and kissed her squarely on the mouth. When the kiss ended, Ruth moved out of his embrace, looking at him with surprise, and then turned towards the front door, while Harry followed.

"Believe me when I say that Jane hates me, Ruth. Hatred is the glue which holds us together, not affection."

"I beg to differ."

"You're such an incurable romantic, Ruth, and I love you for it."

They stopped only yards from the front door, and turned to stare at one another. Yes, for the first time since they'd started seeing one another away from work, Harry had told Ruth he loved her, and he'd made that grand declaration while approaching the front door of his ex-wife's house.

"The sentiment is very welcome, Harry, but your timing …... is …..."

"Ruth …... Harry …... welcome. I've been afraid you wouldn't make it." Jane had flung open the door, and was standing there with a full glass of red wine in her hand. She wore a flowing silk number in gold and black, with matching gold pumps. Her blond hair was pulled back in a small chignon which rested at the nape of her neck. To Ruth's eyes, she looked cool and elegant, and rather beautiful. Ruth resisted her habit of comparing herself to a more beautiful woman than her. After all, Harry was with her by choice; he was no longer interested in Jane. "We've finished the cocktails, and Phillip is opening a half dozen bottles of some disgustingly expensive red wine from Australia or Argentina – somewhere beginning with an A."

"The red is from_ Andalucia_," they heard Phillip call out from inside the house.

"Whatever," Jane said, tipping her glass of wine towards her guests, her scarlet nail polish appearing as drops of blood on the outside of the glass. "You're just in time."

Jane then stood back from the doorway, and made a sweeping gesture with her free hand, an invitation for Ruth and Harry to enter her home.

"You both have dreadful timing," Ruth whispered to Harry. "Maybe it's something you and she perfected together," and then smiled as she turned towards Jane. "Then we have some catching up to do."

* * *

><p>Ruth and Catherine found they had much in common. An hour after being introduced, they were still sitting together on a small chaise lounge in the corner of the living room, discussing the continuing conflict in the Middle East, and its effects on young people in the region, especially the children.<p>

"I met Mark in a children's home in Damascus," Catherine told Ruth. "He was taking photographs on behalf of several online blogs, while I was researching the possibility of filming within the children's home. We were asked to leave once snipers began shooting at the walls of the hotel further along the street. Mark helped me cross the border back into Lebanon. It was then I decided that I might be safer back in London. I still haven't heard about the fate of those who lived in the children's home."

"I know for a fact that your father is happier now you're back on British soil," Ruth commented.

"Dad would be happy if he could wrap me up in cotton wool, and keep me safe forever."

"I don't think so, Catherine. He wants the best for you, and I'm imagining he'd also want you to have a long and happy life."

When their discussion reached a natural hiatus, Ruth looked around the room for Harry, but both he and Phillip were not in the room. In fact, apart from Mikaela, who was messing around on the piano - playing what sounded to Ruth's ears like a Bach fugue, but it could have been anything at all - Catherine and Ruth were the only people in the room.

"Any man over the legal drinking age who enters this house gets shown the wine cellar," Jane said, entering the living room from the kitchen, with Graham tagging along behind her. Ruth was sure Jane was carrying the same glass of red wine. She hadn't seen her drink a drop. Ruth had to admit that Jane was very skilled at creating an image of herself which may or may not have been true. "Harry and Mark have been dragged down to the basement to check out his collection of red wine. Graham and I have been having a heart to heart, haven't we sweetheart?" Graham nodded, but Ruth caught the eyebrow lift as Harry's son exchanged a quick look with his sister. "Graham, honey, would you go downstairs and rescue Harry and Mark from Phillip's clutches? He can be a bit of a bore when it comes to his wine."

Without speaking, Graham left the room, while Catherine and Ruth watched Jane move around the room, grabbing an empty glass here, straightening a coaster there.

"God knows, wine's for drinking, not for talking about," Jane said to no-one in particular. "It's a bit like sex, really."

"Mu-um," Catherine said, standing, and moving across the room towards her mother, picking up empty plates, and stacking them in a more manageable pile. "People old enough to be grandparents should never talk about sex."

Jane turned, as though startled. "Why is that? Catherine, perhaps I need to remind you that sex is not the exclusive domain of the young. _Everybody_ does it, and yet it's only those under the age of thirty-five who are allowed to talk about it. Such nonsense. I'm told that nursing homes are regular hives of inter-marital bonking."

"Mu-um ….. _really._" Catherine stood up straight, and eye-balled her mother.

"Don't really me. I have it on good authority from Helene -"

"Mum's BFF," Catherine explained, turning to Ruth, who nodded, smiling, enjoying the interaction between mother and daughter.

"Helene's mother is in one of those places they chuck old people, hoping they'll die, and leave their fortunes to the owners of the home. She says – Helene's mother – that she was propositioned five times in her first month in her nursing home, and she's eighty-three! Bring it on, I say."

Jane's tirade about nursing home sex was brought to an end when Graham re-entered the living room, followed by Phillip, Mark and Harry. Seeing Ruth sitting alone on the chaise lounge, Harry quickly moved to sit beside her.

"Did you have fun?" she asked. Harry replied by lifting his eyebrows, and taking a deep breath.

"I'd rather have been here with you," he whispered, leaning close to her.

"Everyone …." Phillip was standing by the fireplace, a very large glass of red wine in his hand. Remarkably, everyone else in the room stopped talking, and looked in his direction.

Ruth admired Phillip's appearance – taller and slimmer than Harry, with a full head of waving dark hair, greying at the front and sides. He was distinguished looking, which clearly mattered to Jane. When Ruth had asked Jane what he did for a living, she had lifted her shoulders and said, "Something to do with money." Ruth knew Jane to be no dummy, and it was a fair bet that she knew very well, and in great detail how Phillip earned his living.

"We're gathered here tonight," Phillip continued, " to congratulate Graham on his examination results."

Ruth looked around, and Graham had almost dissolved into the corner behind the piano. Mikaela stood between he and the others, and Graham had slid his arms around his girlfriend's waist. Ruth rather liked Graham. He was a sensitive young man, and it was clear to her that he was not enjoying the evening. Phillip droned on, while Ruth took in the faces of the others in the room. Graham's face gave away nothing more than mild embarrassment, something she suspected he was used to, while Mikaela looked a little bored. Catherine smiled towards her brother, and Mark's eyes never left Catherine's face. Jane stood beside Phillip, her hand hooked possessively through his arm, and when Ruth looked up at Harry sitting close beside her, she saw that he was watching her.

"I'd like to go soon," he whispered, his lips close to her ear.

"It's not even ten o'clock," Ruth whispered back.

"It's Saturday night, neither of us has had very much to drink, we don't have to work tomorrow, I'm hungry for you, and I thought we could go back to my place. I've changed the sheets on the bed," he added, smiling into her eyes.

"That's subtle," she whispered back, "romantic, too."

"I do my best."

"I jolly well hope so."

They held one another's gaze while the speech continued. It was when she heard Phillip mention her own and Harry's names that Ruth nodded at Harry, her signal that she was ready to go home. Harry sighed with relief. He had had enough of being polite to Jane and Phillip. He wanted Ruth to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thank you to followers, readers and reviewers. This is the last bit.**_

* * *

><p>It was almost a half hour later that Ruth and Harry managed to extricate themselves from the gathering. Amid cries of, "`Bye, Dad … Ruth," from Catherine and Graham, "Jolly good to meet you both," from Phillip, and "Don't be a stranger," from Jane, the couple almost ran down the driveway to Harry's car.<p>

"That was a close one," Harry said, once he'd turned the corner onto another street. "I was afraid Phillip was going to suggest a sing-a-long."

Ruth snorted as she tried hard not to laugh. "He is rather dull, isn't he?"

"Which makes him the perfect partner for Jane," Harry replied. "That way, she's always centre stage."

"Are we really going back to your house?" Ruth asked after a silence of a few minutes.

"I thought we might. I think we might both be happier in familiar surroundings."

Ruth watched Harry's profile as he skillfully manoeuvered the car through the evening traffic on the way back to his house. They had been seeing one another outside work for almost four months, and at last they were going to do something more than sleep when they shared a bed. Ruth felt both excited and incredibly nervous, but not cripplingly so.

"Did you get to speak to Graham tonight?" she asked.

"Not really. I've arranged to meet him for dinner on Thursday evening. Whenever he and I were together this evening, either Jane or Phillip were hovering nearby. I'm not altogether sure what tonight was all about, but I have my suspicions. "

Ruth had been drinking in Harry's profile in the dark interior of the car. Every now and then the light from other cars, or from the street lights or traffic lights would illuminate his features in an almost ghoulish way. Ruth thought Harry looked handsome and sweet, but in dim light he appeared a little frightening. "And?" she said.

"And what?" Harry asked.

"What do you think tonight was really about?"

"I suspect Jane is worried she is about to spend the rest of her days with the dull Phillip. I'm sure she cares for him, and he clearly adores her, but …... our children are forming their own lives, perhaps soon their own families. Jane thrives on having people around her. She _needs_ the constant attention from other people. It was one of the core reasons she and I were never going to work. I could never have provided the level of attention she needs."

"Do you think she's befriended me for that reason? I actually rather like her. She's so different from anyone else I know."

Harry took a long time to answer as he negotiated a roundabout, and then another set of traffic lights. "I think that she finds you different from anyone she knows. You listen to her. You're not at all like her, or her mad friends. She's actually rather …... needy. Whenever she feels Catherine and Graham drifting from her, she'll throw another dinner party in their honour, or a `celebration' like tonight. It's more for her than it is for them."

"So ….. you _do_ know her rather well, then."

"I do, and it's one of the reasons I keep my distance from her. I don't wish to be part of her inner circle, or any circle of hers. It's akin to being caught in a spider's web."

"Do you mind …. my seeing her?"

"Ruth," he said, turning briefly to look at her, "your friends are your business. I know she's more an acquaintance than a friend, but unless and until she comes between us, I have no objection at all to you seeing her." Harry momentarily gave his full attention to the road, before he continued speaking. "I don't especially want her in my house, and nor do I wish to visit her and Phillip again, but you are free to be with whomever you choose, Ruth."

"Alright. If ever my seeing her comes between us, I'll pull back. I need you to know that."

"Pull back …... from her, or from me?"

Ruth reached out and lay her hand on Harry's thigh. "From her, of course. What did you think I meant?"

Harry's face broke into a relaxed smile, and to his delight, Ruth left her hand resting on his thigh.

* * *

><p>Once inside Harry's house they both found themselves with little to say to one another. During the previous three to four months they had spent many evenings together in each of their houses. On those occasions, they had talked – a lot – eaten together, laughed, argued, snogged, hugged, and cuddled together on the sofa while watching TV. They had become comfortable in the company of the other – unlike this night.<p>

"Ruth," Harry said at last, after he'd watched her remove her jacket, and place it carefully over the back of a kitchen chair, all the time not offering him eye contact. "We don't have to do anything tonight ….. if that's what you'd rather. I don't mind if we wait a little longer, if that's what you'd prefer." He'd been making them each a cup of coffee, and he'd turned to see her standing beside the chair, almost as though she was unsure about what she should do next.

"No," she replied quickly. "I want this. I'm nervous, yes, but that's to be expected."

Harry placed their mugs of coffee in front of them, and then sat in a chair opposite her. He could barely wait. His only concern was his timing, which on more than one occasion had already been poor. They sat in silence as they drank their coffee. Every now and again Harry lifted his eyes to her, but she appeared deep in thought.

"Ruth," he said, not quite sure how to bridge the distance between them. "Are you alright?"

It was then she looked up, and he could see excitement in her eyes. Her pupils were large, and her blue irises sparkled. "I'm fine, Harry. I've been thinking." Ruth then drained her coffee mug, and carefully placed it on its coaster on the table. "I have an idea which might help …... ease us into this."

"Go on." Harry just wanted to take her upstairs, and to hell with any easing into it.

"I suggest we shower together ….. first …. before …."

Harry smiled across the table, his body relaxing. "Alright. A shower it is, then. What are we waiting for?"

They stood at the same time, both taking their empty coffee mugs and placing them in the sink. For a long moment they stood side by side at the sink, their bodies barely touching. Ruth reached out her hand, and he took it, turning it over and over between his two larger hands, before he lifted it to his lips, where he held it for a long moment.

"Now who's nervous?" she said.

"I'm not nervous, Ruth. Just savouring this moment. This is the moment just before we make love for the first time, and so _this_ will never happen quite the same way again."

"Like losing one's virginity."

"Exactly."

Harry then took Ruth's hand in one of his, and turning out lights as they went, he led her up the stairs to his en suite bathroom.

Behind closed doors, they undressed each other, showered together, each running their palms in wonder over the wet skin of the other. They kissed, then hugged, both acutely aware of the naked flesh pressed against their own. Then they dried themselves, each stealing glances at the other, before moving through to the bedroom.

"Let's put these clean sheets to good use," Ruth commented, as, still wrapped in a towel, she stepped ahead of Harry and stood beside the bed.

"I'm glad my efforts are appreciated," he replied, as he stood behind her, having dropped his towel just inside the doorway.

"Always," Ruth said, before she turned and reached up to kiss him, and then nothing was said for some time. Their first time was well worth the wait.

* * *

><p>Much later, across town Phillip was stacking the dishwasher, while Jane stood close by, occasionally wiping kitchen surfaces with a moist cloth. Graham and Mikaela had left not long after Ruth and Harry, while Catherine and Mark were staying the night, and had already retired to the spare room.<p>

"I thought tonight went well ... all things considered."

"Whatever does that mean?" Jane stopped wiping the counter top - which she'd wiped two or three times already - and turned to give Phillip her interrogatory gaze.

"I mean ... that considering you threw the cat among the pigeons -"

"Phillip, please don't speak in metaphors. It makes my head hurt."

Phillip stood up, and faced her across the expanse of the kitchen. "You threw together a mix of people who normally should not be put in the same room together - namely you, your ex-husband, and his girlfriend."

"Oh, tosh," she said, turning again to give the counter top another once over. "Harry's a lamb, and Ruth is a sweetie. What can go wrong?"

"I have to tell you, Jane, I rather liked Harry, and his lady friend is lovely. They appear very ... well suited."

"Yes, well, I always knew Harry had his good points." Jane deliberately ignored Phillip's raised eyebrows. "It was me who got them together, you know."

"Now you're pulling my leg."

"Not at all. I saw Harry was terribly lonely, and I found a nice woman for him."

Phillip stared at her, and his forehead was creased, perhaps from thinking too much, perhaps in disbelief. Jane turned and looked back at him, a cheeky smile on her face. "Gotcha," she said. "You should know by now not to believe everything I say. All I did was encourage a pairing I thought may come in useful."

Phillip breathed out heavily. "That's more like my Jane," he said, reaching towards her to put an arm around her. "Self-interested to the last."

"Always," she said, cuddling up to him. "Bed? What say we make a lot of noise, and embarrass the youngsters."

"Whatever you say, my love," Phillip said, as he led her upstairs.


End file.
